


leg day

by yehetno



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Fluff, I don't know., M/M, i cannot not do things in sanha's pov, i'm gonna do something mean to sanha/rocky in a dif fic so let's a have a fun/flirty fic, it's a place, minhyuk is charming and sanha is dense, tbh it's just sweet, the gym
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-06 12:03:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11035830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yehetno/pseuds/yehetno
Summary: "Do you come here often?"What Sanha should have said was no. However, like most people do when they are presented with a tantalizing opportunity to talk to a cute boy would Sanha lied.





	leg day

**Author's Note:**

> i have come to the conclusion that i am socky trash. it's like roughly the same size as my myungjin trashness, and i would like to say that i never signed up for this.
> 
> guys, you know about me and editing/proofing. I tried but idk if anything slipped through

In his ratty tee shirt, old sweatpants, and beat-up sneakers, Sanha stands at the entrance of his post-apocalyptic hell.  To his left are machines of torture that probably date back to the Spanish Inquisition, wires and bulky pieces of metal and insufferable clanking make him flinch.  He flinches and gulps audibly, intimidated and uncomfortable.  To his right, people on human hamster wheels work themselves to death, panting and sweating, grimacing as they push even harder.

Sanha nods and turns on his heel.  He did _come_ to the gym; that is an indisputable fact of life.  He is here, and he finds that he wants no part in the self-inflicted shortness of breath and soreness that comes along with it.  He does not want to venture into the cardio gallery because he  _knows_ the second that he steps onto one of the high-powered treadmills is the second that he flies off of a high-powered treadmill. 

He manages to take one step toward the locker room when Myungjun firmly plants himself in Sanha's path.

Kim Myungjun.  What a menace.  He is the very reason that Sanha was cornered into using his gym membership for once.  (The elevator broke down in the apartment building, and when Sanha arrived at their third floor home, panting and ready for the good Lord to take him, Myungjun "suggested" that they hit up the gym and work on their general wellness.)  Nevermind that when Sanha encounters a tough pickle jar, he gives up.  _Nevermind_ that he cannot let laundry pile up because when he has a full basket of clothes to wash, he struggles to make it down to the building's basement without setting down his basket.  He sees no need to even think about the gym except for when he pays his bills and debates whether or not he should cancel his membership.  Having a membership is as good as regularly working out, that's what everyone says.

"Where do you think you're going?" Myungjun asks in his mean teacher voice.

"I forgot my dignity in the locker room."

"There is no dignity at the gym, not for you, who I have seen to struggle to open a bag of chips."

The mention of one of Sanha's more shameful moments catches him off-guard. He can already tell that the battle of words ahead will result in his loss but feels that he should at least try to save some face.  He scoffs softly, trying to think of an adequate comeback, "I--I..."

Myungjun draws in a breath through his nose, a clear sign that he is controlling his temper, "Please don't try to retort me, I will bring up your indiscriminate usage of scissors.  Just, I don't know, spend some time on the elliptical or the stationary bikes.  We can leave in half an hour... do something, kiddo, _anything._ "

Myungjun walks aways with his shoulders slightly drooped, making his way toward free weights.

Great.  

Fantastic. 

Absolutely marvelous, Sanha bitterly thinks.  He doesn't exactly know his way around a gym, at least not in a way that allows him to avoid putting in an actual effort.  Trying any of the toning or muscle building machines is bound to go poorly; Sanha knows that he is the type of person to struggle on those with the least resistance possible.  Any of the machines designed for cardio will tire him out within five minutes, and Sanha wouldn't even know how to begin finding the willpower to keep going. 

He exhales a sigh of defeat.  Maybe, he could just walk on the treadmill, very slowly at no incline.  He can try to play it off like it's a cool down.  There is probably shame to what he's doing, but shame is a luxury he cannot afford if he wants to survive for the next thirty minutes.

He hops onto a treadmill, hoping that gym-etiquette disallows the judgment of fellow "runners" when they first use a machine.  Luckily enough, it is a fairly straightforward to get the treadmill going, so he narrowly avoids embarrassing himself by pressing a myriad of wrong buttons.  (The big green and red buttons labeled 'start' and 'stop' respectively are the design achievement of the decade, in Sanha's humble opinion.)

Sanha's treadmill begins to move with a loud hum as his footsteps thud against the belt. 

He feels like a fraud; he has a paranoid thought that the gym police will see him and bring out a megaphone to announce to the entire world that this pathetic person on a  _treadmill_ does not care about his fitness at all.  Of course, there is no such thing as the gym police, and odds are that no one cares what Sanha is up to unless they're Kim Myungjun.

He walks on the treadmill awkwardly, unsure of where to put his hands.  Should they go on the heart rate monitor things or the big handle-looking things?  Does his speed even merit trying to hold onto the treadmill?  He should just walk with his hands at his side or something.   Where should he look?  In front of him, a lady is jump roping, but there is nothing on any of the televisions that appeal to Sanha.  Why is the gym like this?  Full of people and ripe with opportunities for social missteps.

He ultimately opts to stare at the primary display on the treadmill, and believe him,  _believe him_ time goes so much slower when you literally watch the seconds tick by.  Somehow, he thinks about nothing and everything as he waits for midnight to strike and he can leave the ball.  Sure, Cinderella didn't look forward to midnight, but fairy tales are at the forefront of Sanha's mind so he is sticking with the metaphor.

He would love a Prince Charming of his own.

Finally,  _finally_ , mercy comes as the display's timer hits the thirty minutes mark.  Sanha presses stop quickly, instinctively wiping at his face, finding himself a little embarrassed that he has broken a slight sweat.

He steps off the treadmill with a slight wobble; apparently, his legs were unprepared for the change in terrain.  He makes a quick recovery, quickly looking around to verify that his trip up went unnoticed by everyone around him.  His mood picks up ever so slightly in the way that it does whenever embarrassment is avoided.

Navigating through people and machines, Sanha finds himself by the water fountain.  He bends over at the waist and slurps down the cool water with no regard for the noises that may or may not be made.  He straightens himself back up and turns toward the locker rooms.

Oh.

A  _handsome_ person stands in Sanha's way.  When Sanha says handsome, he means an Adonis with sweat glittering down in his face and damp hair pushed out of his face with toned arms planting hands on his hips.  A man for whom sweat only accentuates everything good he has going on.  Did Sanha mention the way that his shirt clings to his well-defined abdomen?

If Sanha was not into boys, he'd probably say something about how unfair this is.  But he is, so he gets to  _admire._

Unfortunately, in ogling at his man crush Monday, he has completely forgotten his sensibility and remains rooted in place.

Adonis pulls the corner of his mouth up into a half-grin, "Mind letting me by?"

He speaks; Sanha could (and would love to) go on about the harmony between the voice and face of this stranger.  Sanha looks around because there is no way that  _he_ is the one being addressed, right?  However, Sanha is the only plausible person that he could be addressing.  "Sorry?"

"Troll of the water fountain, may I pass and have a sip of water?  Or is there a riddle that I must solve?  Perhaps I can pay a toll..." The man jokes, the corners of his lips threatening to pull up and dazzle Sanha with a smile.

A dim lightbulb flickers in his mind, "Oh... yeah, sorry."

He steps aside, which earns him a full-blown smile from the Adonis.  He stays rooted in his spot, momentarily forgetting his eagerness to change into his  _actual_ clothes and get the hell out of Dodge.

The stranger finishes his drink and wipes his mouth the back of his hand before returning his attention to Sanha.  He glances over Sanha's attire and leans against the wall with his elbow. "So, um, do you come here often?" He asks with a playful lilt in his voice, cracking a cheeky grin.

The answer is obvious.  Anything other than the truth would be a bold-faced and shameful lie; honestly, he looks like he took a break from sitting in his room on his laptop because his bag of cheese puffs was empty and he couldn't be bothered to change into decent clothing.

However, Sanha has never been one to make the best choices. Plus, he really,  _really_ doesn't want the cutest boy in all of Gym-land to think that he doesn't pay attention to his fitness.  So he can't help but blurt out: "Yeah, oh-oh-oh totally, I am always here.  Love to sweat."

The grin on his conversation partner's face stays frozen there as he licks his lips with a nod, "Always here?"

Sanha nods, "All the time, just like every day..."

He needs to stop digging himself into a hole.

The stranger pushes off the wall, "Oh, uh, when?  I'm here quite often, so I'm surprised we haven't run into each other before."

Sanha clicks his tongue.  He hates lying on the spot, but since he has made his bed, he must lie in it, "Usually I'm here pretty late, like, uh, 9 or 10 PM."

"Ah, is it that you prefer to work out at night or do you just procrastinate on coming to the gym?"

"Does it matter?" Sanha squeaks, eagerly pivoting the conversation to what interests him.  "What did you say your name was?"

"Minhyuk."

 "Well,  _Minhyuk,_ I'm sure I'll see you around. Since I'm here all the time and you're here all the time," Sanha squeaks, aware of how much he'll regret this informal promise to see Minhyuk around.

 

//

 

The laces on Sanha's new running shoes make a clean noise when he pulls the string taut to form a bow.  Did Sanha buy a bunch of gym-appropriate attire just to make him seem like a credible gym-goer? Yes, yes, he did.

He slowly walks out of the locker-room, scanning the equipment for signs of Minhyuk.  The hardest part is making his actions seem inconspicuous, as though he might be interested in--heaven forbid--using one of the machines.  He keeps his weight on the balls of his feet, craning his neck to get the best view possible.  He will probably have to put an effort into this visit to make his presence more natural.  Who just goes to the gym to  _maybe_ run into a guy? (Sanha but that's not the point, and quite frankly, he resents the implication.)

After failing to find Minhyuk amongst the people populating different areas, he resigns himself to another length of time on the treadmill.  Sanha can't help but feel dejected; he put effort into his appearance and isn't reaping in any returns.

The walk on the treadmill is far from impressive; he keeps the speed low so that he can wallow in self-pity about his first unsuccessful attempt to come across Minhyuk.  What if this becomes a regular thing?

Sanha sighs as he hops off of the treadmill, dabbing at the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead.

Someone bumps up against his shoulder, and when Sanha turns to look, he sees a smiling Minhyuk.

"So, you never told me your name," Minhyuk complains, letting a joking grin spread across his face.

"It's Sanha," he replies quietly.

Minhyuk nods, "So, what did you work on today?  For me, it was leg day, so tomorrow is going to suck, ya know?"

He does not, but he cannot very well say that.  He opts to vaguely comment on his physical activity: "Um, I was on the treadmill..."

Minhyuk claps sharply, "Aha! A cardio man."

"Cardio is Greek for heart," Sanha blurts out and immediately regrets.  Minhyuk knows that. _E_ _veryone_ knows that, but it's kind of the only thing that Sanha can think of at the moment. "Ah... I'm sorry, I'm tired."

Minhyuk pats his back, "You know, I don't often think about the origin of words.  But now that you mention Greece, I kinda want Mediterranean food.  Do you wanna join?"

Sanha almost walks into a wall, barely making it through the threshold of the locker-room.  "Um," he mutters at a loss for words.  "Maybe next time?"  Sanha fears that his charm will be limited if he has no time to prepare for extended interaction with Minhyuk.

Minhyuk giggles, "I'll keep you to your word on that."

Sanha watches as Minhyuk flits away, heading back toward the equipment, his dedication marveling Sanha.  He can't help but smile because he has an informal date.  

 

//

 

The next time that he goes to the gym, he tries his hand at a contraption that he  _think_ _s_ is meant to strengthen his thighs.  He has to put his feet under foam attached to a bar and extend his legs for the (low, oh so low) weight to rise on its pulley.

Minhyuk catches him a minute or so into his attempts to condition his quadriceps.  "Are you just starting or finishing up your leg day?"

Sanha looks around, "Um, starting... do you think that I could just mail it in today?"

Minhyuk leans against the machine, "You should never neglect leg day, Sanha.  But, uh, I think I can smooth-talk the gym monitors into letting it slide." 

Sanha bites back a small smile, "You'd do that for me?"

"Well, it would, of course, be a quid pro quo sort of thing," Minhyuk runs his hand through his hair.

"What do you want in return?"

"Mediterranean food." Minhyuk bites his lip, "I've been thinking about it since we saw each other last and you  _did_  promise that we'd get some.  So, really, it's barely quid pro quo, and you're lucky that this is how I'm letting you return my favor."

Sanha wonders how much Minhyuk is actually flirting and how much he is projecting because he really wants Minhyuk to aim romantic intentions his way. He nods, "Let's do it."

Sanha disentangles himself from his machine and follows Minhyuk to the locker room where they change into their respective street clothes.  Minhyuk talks about the restaurant where they are going.  It is a hole in the wall sort of restaurant that is a block and a half away.  When they arrive, Sanha understands that Minhyuk wasn't kidding.  There are, at most, ten small tables that are almost too close together, and there is one other person in the restaurant that is there to eat.

Minhyuk insists that Sanha claims a seat for them, and he'll get the food because he knows the menu well.  The waitress greets Minhyuk by name, and he rattles off several items for them to try.  She brings out the food as it becomes ready, but Sanha barely notices her because of Minhyuk.

The thing is,  _the thing is_ that Minhyuk is incredibly charming.  Sanha tells a joke, a dumb one but a joke nonetheless, and it unlocks this new smile in Minhyuk that has shy joy in it.  It is the kind of smile that  _you know_  isspecial when a person who carries himself like Minhyuk wears it.  Sanha seems to have broken past the cool and confident facade around him to find an even more awesome Minhyuk with a scrunched up face and quiet snort in his laugh.

It would be really easy to trip and fall in love with Minhyuk.

Sanha slowly chews through a crisp piece of cucumber as Minhyuk tries to stop giggling at a joke that does not merit the laughter is has gotten.

Sanha clears his throat, "Um, Minhyuk?"

Minhyuk schools his expression into a neutral one, "Yes?" He squeaks as a smile breaks through the facade again.

"I need to tell you something."

"What?"

"Um," Sanha clears his throat again, correcting his posture. "I... I lied."

"About?" Minhyuk cocks his head to the side with an amused form of confusion pulling his eyebrows together.

"I don't go to the gym all the time," Sanha confesses quickly.  "And I just wanted to tell you that because I don't want the potential foundation of our relationship to be formed on a lie.  I really like--enjoy your company."

A soft laugh, "Sanha, I know that you don't go to the gym."

Sanha feels his jaw drop, "You do? I mean... h-how?"

"Several reasons, first of which being I would have noticed someone as cute as you if you came to the gym with any degree of regularity.  Second, your shoes were kinda hanging on for dear life.  Also, I'm a trainer at the gym, so I know just about everybody that regularly comes through," Minhyuk grins.

"You think I'm cute?" Sanha blushes, moving his cucumber salad around with his fork in an effort to avoid smiling too widely.

"Obviously, I mean, I literally tried to pick you the first time I talked to you.  Then I asked you out to dinner..." Minhyuk trails off. "Do you--I mean-- do you think  _I'm_ cute?"

"Is that an actual question?" Sanha asks incredulously.  Minhyuk stares back at him in confusion.  Sanh nods, "Yes.  Yeah.  Clearly, because I can't function around attractive beings."

"So... Can I have your number?"

 

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like i haven't written in forever, so it feels clunky?? i don't know if i'm just being me about it or if nothing is different. i was supposed to post this sooner, but i got distracted by ideas for a different fic & i need to follow through on this one before i begin working on the next one. (i also fell into a show hole, but that's neither here nor there <3)
> 
> comment/kudos/bookmark if you're feeling those socky vibes (or like me).
> 
> have a beautiful day, week, month, year <3
> 
> (oh yeah, [ tumblr](http://yehetno.tumblr.com).)


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